


Dooley Death Day Drabbles

by i_owe_you_a_bourbon



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 13:37:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3898270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_owe_you_a_bourbon/pseuds/i_owe_you_a_bourbon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles to celebrate the life and death of Roger Dooley, on this saddest of days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Octopus Assignment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carter narrowed her eyes. “As awkward as the time you were almost blown up by Howard Stark’s exploding vest? Tell me, sir, however did you manage to get out of that one again?” She snapped her fingers. “Right. You were rescued by the office’s resident woman.”

“Sir, I’d like to be put on the octopus assignment,” Carter announced without preamble as she barged into Dooley’s office. 

He glanced up at her. “That doesn’t come as a shock to me, Carter,” he sighed. “You gotta point?”

“I want you to put me on it.”

“And why would I do that?”

“I’ve had experience with the type of bomb that was used,” she said immediately. “It’s based on what was originally a Hydra Design. I’ve handled it. I’ve diffused it. I’ve dismantled it. I know it – quite literally – inside and out, and no other agent in this office can claim that kind of qualification.”

“No other agent in this office can claim to be a woman, either.”

“That doesn’t come as a shock to me, sir. Your point?”

“Come on, Carter. You know the awkward situation that puts me in.”

Carter narrowed her eyes. “As awkward as the time you were almost blown up by Howard Stark’s exploding vest? Tell me, sir, however did you manage to get out of that one again?” She snapped her fingers. “Right. You were rescued by the office’s resident woman.”

“You think I owe you some kind of favour for doing your job?”

“No. I think you owe me the benefit of the doubt that I can do my job again.”

Dooley threw his hands in the air. “Fine,” he said. “You can be on the octopus.” He leveled a warning finger at her. “But you better not mess this up for me.”

Carter nodded happily. “I assure you I will not,” she said. She left his office with a bright smile on her face.

Dooley shook his head after her. “You may’ve saved my life, but you’re still a pain in my ass,” he muttered.


	2. Intruder Alert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We have an intruder,” Dooley muttered, still scanning the floor with his eyes.
> 
> Sousa glanced around the office, trying to see what the chief might be seeing. “He must be pretty tiny,” he said. “Sir.”
> 
> Dooley briefly allowed his gaze to leave the floor in order to glare in Sousa’s direction. “Don’t take that tone with me, son,” he warned. His eyes returned to the floor. “It’s some kind of rodent.”

The sound of muffled swearing pulled Sousa from his reverie. It was night shift, and he seemed to recall Agent Marks excusing himself a while ago for some reason that Sousa hadn’t really paid attention to, intent as he was on his work. Now he found himself alone in the office – alone but for the stream of curse words in ever-increasing volume that suddenly came drifting from Dooley’s office. Hesitantly, Sousa headed over to knock on the chief’s door. “Boss?” he asked. “Everything okay in there?”

“Sousa, get in here,” Dooley’s voice barked in reply. Sousa obediently opened the door and poked his head in. Dooley stood in the corner of the office, his eyes on the floor, his brow furrowed. He glanced up at Sousa and motioned for him to enter. “Get in here,” he said again. “And shut that door behind you.”

Sousa did as he was told. He stood there for a moment, waiting for an explanation. When none seemed forthcoming, he cleared his throat. “Can I help you, sir?” he asked.

“We have an intruder,” Dooley muttered, still scanning the floor with his eyes.

Sousa glanced around the office, trying to see what the chief might be seeing. “He must be pretty tiny,” he said. “Sir.”

Dooley briefly allowed his gaze to leave the floor in order to glare in Sousa’s direction. “Don’t take that tone with me, son,” he warned. His eyes returned to the floor. “It’s some kind of rodent.” 

Sousa looked around again. “What do you need me for?” he asked. 

“You’re going to help me get it.” At that moment, there was a flicker of movement in the corner of the office, and Dooley jabbed his finger towards it violently. “There,” he hissed. The creature darted forward suddenly, streaking past Sousa. He lifted his crutch and struck out at it, but it evaded the blow easily. Dooley let out a shout and jumped backwards as the thing ran by him to disappear under the couch. Sousa glanced up at Dooley, who was now pressed against the wall, breathing heavily. The chief met his gaze. “Not a word,” he said, his breath still a little uneven.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” said Sousa. He leaned on his crutch, staring at the couch. “Jeez, that thing is fast.”

Dooley nodded. “It is. But I’ll be damned if it’s getting out of here alive.” He looked up at Sousa. “It’s going to be a long night.”


	3. The Automat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You okay there, Rodge?” a cheery voice asked. He looked up to see the familiar face of Angie the waitress smiling down at him. “You’re lookin’ a bit down today,” she said.

Dooley didn’t know why he kept coming back to the automat. It wasn’t the atmosphere, or the food, or the coffee, but there was something that always moved his feet back to that same place, without him even giving it a thought.

On this particular day he found himself there yet again, sitting by the window, eating a slice of pie that was too sweet, sipping coffee that was too bland. “You okay there, Rodge?” a cheery voice asked. He looked up to see the familiar face of Angie the waitress smiling down at him. “You’re lookin’ a bit down today,” she said.

Dooley smiled back at her and lifted his cup. “The coffee just doesn’t have enough kick to perk me up much.”

“It will if you drink enough,” Angie informed him. “Let me get you a refill.” Dooley smiled to himself as she headed away. By the time she returned with the coffee pot, the day was already seeming a little better. “There you go,” she said, topping his mug up. She looked around. None of the other few patrons seemed to need immediate attention, so she slid into the booth across from him. “So what’s goin’ on?” she asked. “Get into another fight with the wife?”

Dooley sighed. He didn’t want to talk about this, but something about the look in Angie’s eyes always made it impossible not to. He nodded. “I seem to keep finding new ways to piss her off.”

Angie leaned forward, crossing her arms on the table. “Tell me,” she said.

By the time Dooley headed out, he felt lighter than he had in days. He knew why he kept coming back to the automat, even if he’d never admit it to himself.


	4. The Butler and the Bowtie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why do I have to wear this thing anyway?” Dooley muttered. “It’s ridiculous. I look ridiculous.”
> 
> “I’m afraid Mr. Stark has a very strict dress code for his galas,” Jarvis said. “And I assure you that you only look ridiculous because you have no idea what you’re doing. You are aware a bowtie is supposed to be roughly bow shaped?”

“Here, sir, allow me to – ” 

“I’ve got it,” Dooley snapped, swatting the offending hands away from his neck.

Stark’s butler let out a cross sigh. “Forgive me for saying, sir, but you most certainly do not. That is perhaps the farthest thing from a properly tied bowtie I have ever seen in all my years. And I have seen many bowties, several of which were _very_ ill tied.” 

“It’s hard to concentrate on tying anything with you blathering on like that.”

“Forgive me.” Jarvis fell silent, fidgeting slightly as he watched Dooley attempt to fix his bowtie. From the way his fingers kept twitching, Dooley could tell the butler was dying to reach out and do it for him. He wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction.

“Why do I have to wear this thing anyway?” Dooley muttered. “It’s ridiculous. I look ridiculous.”

“I’m afraid Mr. Stark has a very strict dress code for his galas,” Jarvis said. “And I assure you that you only look ridiculous because you have no idea what you’re doing. You are aware a bowtie is supposed to be roughly bow shaped?” 

“I’m aware,” Dooley grumbled. He struggled with the useless piece of fabric wrapped around his neck.

“As a butler, I am perfectly qualified for the task at hand,” Jarvis informed him, watching his struggles with a pained look on his face. “I have tied Mr. Stark’s bowties many a time.”

“The man throws bowtie-only galas and can’t tie the damn things himself?”

“He is generally capable. On occasion, however, he is rather too inebriated to have the nimbleness in his fingers that is required.”

“And your fingers are that nimble, are they?” Dooley glanced at the butler.

“They are _very_ nimble, sir,” Jarvis informed him.

Dooley sighed and dropped his hands to his sides. “Fine,” he muttered. “Do it.”

With a relieved sigh, the butler stepped forward and knotted the bowtie for him with a few, deft movements. Standing back, he admired his handiwork. “There,” he said happily. “Quite dashing, if I do say so myself.”

Dooley examined himself in the mirror. “I still look ridiculous,” he muttered.


	5. The Octopus and the Goat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dooley flipped the file open and perused the first page. He looked back up at Thompson. “The goat?” he asked, more than a little incredulously. “Is this some kinda joke?”
> 
> “No joke,” Thompson replied. “The goat was all a part of the plan.” 
> 
> Dooley shook his head in bewilderment. “An octopus, a goat, and a bomb. This is one hell of a situation we’ve got on our hands.”

Dooley looked up as Thompson strutted into his office. The younger man looked so self-satisfied that Dooley was surprised his smirk hadn’t stretched off his face. “Got a lead on our octopus situation,” Thompson said, coming forward to drop a file on Dooley’s desk. “We know how they got past security.”

Dooley flipped the file open and perused the first page. He looked back up at Thompson. “The goat?” he asked, more than a little incredulously. “Is this some kinda joke?”

“No joke,” Thompson replied. “The goat was all a part of the plan.” 

Dooley shook his head in bewilderment. “An octopus, a goat, and a bomb. This is one hell of a situation we’ve got on our hands.”

“Yes sir.” Thompson shoved his hands into his pockets, looking, if possible, even more pleased with himself. “Lucky for us, we’ve got the goat.”

Dooley raised his eyebrows. “You gonna tell me that owning some livestock is what’s gonna crack this case open?”

Thompson nodded. “Yep. See, we know where the goat came from. I traced it back to a farm just outside the city. I’m just about to take a couple of guys down there, see what our livestock sellers know.”

“Find out who bought the goat, and we’ve got our guy.”

“Exactly.”

Dooley sat back in his chair. “That’s some really nice work you’ve done here, Thompson.”

“I learned from the best,” Thompson said smugly. “If you don’t mind my saying, there’s really no better teacher than you, chief.”

Dooley shot him a look. “Son, if you’re going to kiss my ass that much, you’d better make it French.”


End file.
